Sam Tyler Doesn't Know It
by theanonsisters
Summary: Musing on life/death/reality. Slash, Sam/Gene.


Sam Tyler Doesn't Know It.. (1/1)  
Beta: bistokids, who helped enormously with tenses, grammar, punctuation, and general advice on what worked and not.  
Pairing: Sam/Gene  
Rating: M  
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual content, swearing  
Spoilers: Through to the end of the show, set after 2.08  
Disclaimer: Author hopes never to come to the attention of Kudos/BBC *furtive*

Now and then, when he was feeling contemplative, Sam still thought himself a little upset. He'd always believed death would be the doorway to a wondrous place his human brain couldn't begin to imagine, but which would be understood by him as he stood on the threshold. Turns out the undiscovered country is still beyond his grasp, even when he's standing in it.

It had been several years, relatively speaking, since his accident. In that time, after all the soul searching and struggling, the only thing he felt he had really determined to be true was that everything is relative. He now existed thirty years before that day in 2006. Waking up in 2007 wasn't like waking from a dream and lying in his single room flat in 70s Manchester wasn't like having a dream. Dreams had a quality of their own and so did life. He was dead. Relative to the people he had left behind. Equally, he was alive. Sam lay half dressed on his rumpled camp bed and smiled drunkenly at the first light of day seeping into the utilitarian room. A mere hour since he'd pulled himself away from Chris's birthday celebrations at the station and he'd have to be right back there in just a few more. He'd be feeling like hell, he knew. The slow pounding was already beginning behind his eyes. Too bad being dead wasn't an excuse for a sickie in his DCI's book.

Surveying the carnage, Sam decided it was a good thing Manchester's criminal fraternity had no idea what kind of shape the forces of law and order were in today. If it wasn't for the fuzziness around his own vision, today would be the day he'd pull off that bank job. Ray Carling seemed to be finding it difficult to make his arm obey his command to bring his glass of fizzing white foam to his mouth. The birthday boy himself was horizontal, half-under Carling's desk, and Sam had no reason to believe Skelton'd moved from the spot since last night.

In his office, DCI Gene Hunt decided a pincer attack was the way to go and dropped his painkillers into a large whisky, wincing as the noise careened around his head. He felt like a malfunctioning arcade game and it did nothing for his humour to see Tyler standing in the doorway looking normal. Shirt clean, jacket buttoned. Hair combed, for fuck's sake. You wouldn't think the little prick had downed just as much as the rest of them. He must have slipped away sometime in the night to underhandedly grab a few hours kip. Can't have Inspector Tyler looking like an extra in their Ed Wood feature. And he was just the same when he was getting his end away. Party in full-swing, Gene feels he's experiencing new levels of randyness and it's frankly painful. Tyler's fault, the bastard's been 'accidentally' brushing and pushing up against him all day. Well, it's been a week since they've gone at it what with work being a bit heavy and so the electricity's been building, threatening to find a path to earth with a bang if they don't do something about it. So rather than let it go on any longer and risk doing something regrettable like giving Tyler a prostate probe in front of the squad room, Gene, barely containing himself, manoeuvres Tyler into the storage room away from eyes and ears. Five minutes after they do the deed you wouldn't think Sam'd ever been moaning and pleading and bucking against him like a frantic whore. Usually Gene appreciates the cool unruffled bit, in fact it turns him on because it makes him feel like he's the only one who ever hears the pleading. It's just not doing much for him this morning.

"Tyler, if you've nothing to do with yourself help Cartwright restore some order out there before the bloody Super sees it and then pull the Greaves' statements and go over them again"

"The Greaves Sisters? Why?"

"We're going back out to their place to ask a few more questions"

"I thought we were passing the Hanney case to Hyde, Guv"

"We're passing the Hanney case to Hyde when I'm satisfied it falls in their jurisdiction. Well? Waiting for directions?"

The illicit zeds must have done Sam's brain some good because he wisely decides to obey and Gene's antagonism lessens a little at the sight of the perfectly formed body making it's way across the squad room. He watches Sam join Annie Cartwright as the two of them shove debris and banner remnants into bin bags, pausing only to smirk when Ray clutches his head at the noise. The perky little gits.

Hunt knew he had Sam Tyler the minute he touched him. He always knew. The way the man's eyes darkened and his breathing stuttered as he put him in his place against his office filing cabinet, he knew he was going to be enjoying Sam Tyler sooner rather than later. What he didn't count on was Tyler being battier than a Hammer Horror. As time went on, Hunt decided Sammy's problems stemmed from the stress of being hoiked down the career (and salary) ladder from DCI back to DI. He didn't share his theory and he was never able to confirm it but he believed Sam must have pissed off some lowlife bigshot with friends and gotten himself discreetly moved to a new area. With no DCI vacancies, he was installed as Hunt's DI and Hunt himself given to believe he was simply receiving a DI who had requested a transfer. But whatever problems Sam may have had settling in to Manchester, he was unstoppable when he was on the job. He became a good friend, too. Gene Hunt would've thought there wasn't a man on earth he would have unloaded his problems too and yet over a few months his respect had grown to the stage where Gene was ready to stand with Sam Tyler and turn his back on cutting deals with scum like Warren and start treating the fuckers like the criminals they were.

And all the time Tyler was accepting Gene's advances. He could tell in the way his brown eyes would travel down to Gene's mouth as he lectured him on psych profile bollocks and then they'd move slowly back up and Gene would have bloody lost his train of thought. He could tell in the way Tyler'd remain still when Gene would invade his space, even pushing closer still on occasion. Sam was bright, engaging and it made Gene's trousers violently tight when he though about that mouth. Something was going to give and Gene couldn't decide what he wanted more; to push on to the last furlong or let it build just a little bit more first.

The finishing post turned out to be the Trafford Arms as they stood in the kitchen after closing time squabbling heatedly about the whole exercise. Then the heat was suddenly between them, Sam's back hard against the door as Gene tried to devour him. Sam didn't think they could've stopped even if Annie had come back and caught them at it. Fire lanced through his belly and brought him to painful readiness faster than he could ever remember. Hunt backed off from his initial assault and rested his forehead against Sam's for a moment as they fought for breath. If they were going to leave the line uncrossed it would have to be now. Too far gone, Sam pressed up and brushed his mouth against Gene's, then repeated the action, licking a little, bestowing quick biting kisses. Hunt had gone rigid and his blue-green eyes, nearly black with desire, were fixed on Sam's mouth when Sam moved back in his arms to search his face for direction. Feeling like all the moisture had been sucked out of the air, Sam watched in fascination as Gene's mouth twitched slightly. Instinctively running his tongue along his own lower lip, Sam tasted the slight sheen of saliva he had come away from the kisses with and and his blood thundered south as the action caused Gene to emit a low desperate groan and surge forward until his mouth was again forcing Sam's open, his own arousal insistent against Sam's hip.

Sam realised he had begun making some noise, groans and pleas he barely recognised as coming from his own throat. He pushed and writhed against his new lover with the same need Hunt himself displayed as he tried to pin him in place. At some point their shirts had been wrenched open although Sam couldn't rightly remember it happening, he only knew that there was flushed bare skin against his own and it was fast bringing him to the edge. Hunt was rubbing the heel of his hand against Sam's inflamed but still covered cock and staring feverishly into his face, absorbing the sight of his gorgeous DI unravelling, when suddenly they couldn't get to each other fast enough. Belts and zippers undone, Sam could only cry out helplessly as a rough warm hand closed over him, thumb spreading the leaking precome. Hunt wasn't teasing, the pace was going to have him shooting everything he had and he tried to gather himself and give back some of what he was receiving but now apparently wasn't going to be the time. Sounding like a man in pain, Hunt ground out, "Later," and continued working both Sam and himself towards orgasm, an explosion which when it happened seemed to go on for whole minutes leaving Sam drained and his boss gasping for breath, his head resting against the cool surface of the door at Sam's shoulder.

Sam's worst year was ironically the one following his choice to return to the world he existed in with Gene. Free of the hallucinations caused by his comatose state as the world he was leaving repeatedly tried to wrench him back, Sam thought his problems over. The year Gene's marriage broke down was a dark time for the whole team. Bitterness and hostility threatened to break them as more than once each of them seriously considered transfer. Sam had got as far as interviewing with the Met, sick to his stomach that within weeks he might never see his friends or Gene Hunt again but unable to go on, feeling he had given all he could.

Then one night Gene had arrived at his flat with wine and food. He had set it all up at the breakfast table and damned if he hadn't proceeded to treat the whole thing as if it was a date. He'd raked his eyes over Sam's body and touched him as he spoke and kissed him goodnight. And so it went on, both of them slowly rebuilding their relationship. Sam realised that for all his Guv's candour about the mistakes he'd made and lived with in his work, discussion of personal mistakes was just that little bit harder but it didn't matter. With his actions Gene asked him not to go, to stay, to try again.

Splayed obscenely over a chair at Gene's kitchen table, Sam was eager to take up their reminiscences, hopeful that the discussion might now go somewhere. Gene's desire to take things slowly back to where they were warmed Sam's heart, but frustration was building and Sam couldn't seem to hasten things along at a faster speed, no matter how he tried. In fact he was sure Gene was deriving enormous pleasure from watching him trying. So finally a pleasant meal with Gene in a secluded city restaurant saw Sam bring out the big guns - and amuse himself at the same time - by reminding Gene of their various sexual encounters and watching the man of iron struggle not to react to his low words. He particularly enjoyed the moment when his explicit description of his pleasure the first time Gene was inside him caused Gene to involuntarily expel wine through his nose. Casting quick looks around him to ascertain how much of a prat he had made of himself, Gene had narrowed his eyes in warning and bent low over his plate.

Sam was chuckling at the memory when Gene moved quickly and he found himself hauled to his feet and pinned against the kitchen door. The next thing he knew he was tasting sweet red wine as Gene's mouth moved urgently over his, sending hard stabbings of longing into his stomach and down his thighs. It had been so long. Gene broke the kiss and looked at Sam as if weighing something carefully.

"Do you remember the first time, Sam? At the Trafford Arms? You didn't mention it."

"I.." He didn't mention it because he wasn't sure he could trust himself with that memory.

"I'm glad you didn't," Hunt went on "That would have pushed me too far. It was the night I fell in love with you."

His gasp of surprise swallowed by Gene kissing him again, Sam moaned and felt himself harden in a hot rush. Gene was already there. This time when the kiss ended Gene stuck a hand in his pocket and withdrew a small metal topped tube of lubricant which he placed in Sam's hand. "Go on, get upstairs. I'll get the wine."

END


End file.
